


December

by unknowableroom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-07
Updated: 2010-02-07
Packaged: 2019-01-19 10:36:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12408729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknowableroom_archivist/pseuds/unknowableroom_archivist
Summary: The sound of the crackling fire fills the room again. It reminds Draco of powerful magic. It reminds Harry of too much homework. [H/D, Christmas-y one-shot.]





	December

**Author's Note:**

> Note from ChristyCorr, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Unknowable Room](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Unknowable_Room), a Harry Potter archive active from 2005-2016. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after May 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Unknowable Room collection profile](http://www.archiveofourown.org/collections/unknowableroom).

**Title** : December  
 **Ship** : Harry/Draco  
 **Wordcount** : 4100-ish.  
 **Genre** : Romance. Humour? Mostly fluff, not really any angst here.  
 **Summary** : _“Draco, do you know how Saint Nick delivers presents to thousands of kids all over the world?”_ (Or something. Just a bunch of Christmas themed H/D drabbles depicting H + D throughout December.)  
 **A/N** : All of the drabbles I wrote for **dracoharry100** 's Christmas challenge, in order. Not the order I wrote them, but the order they should be read. Note that it's a bit disjointed because they were written over a month with no real plot in mind and out of order. I've separated the fic by drabble rather than by scene. Un-beta'd, so if you spot mistakes/typos I'd be appreciated if you drop me a comment.

* * *

"This is delicious," Harry comments, swirling sweet liquid around his glass.

"It's not that amazing," Draco mutters, glaring at Harry.

He laughs, "No, really. Better than Hogwarts even."

"If you're going to force me to partake in this stupid contest you have to at least hate the competition with me." Draco insists. He points to the cauldron full of deep, red wine in front of them. "Look at that consistency, and the shade of red. It's perfect!"

The noisy crowd around Dennis Creevey's eggnog stand forces Harry to raise his voice, "Well, it's a perfect _potion_ , of course. But, er... I really don't think Snape is a good mentor taste-wise. God, his dreamless sleep." Harry grimaces.

"Why did you tell me to enter, then?" Draco scowls.

Harry mumbles something quietly.

"Pardon?"

Harry flushes. "I said: you always get horny after brewing wine."

-

“I suppose Christmas...” Draco trails of, squinting. “Do you like Christmastime?”

The fairy in his fist rests her forearms on his thumb, scowling up at him. “ _No, I don’t_. The work hours are ridiculous! Harry is _much_ nicer than you! At least he gives us breaks and sweets. When is he coming home?”

“Do you mind?” Draco moans, covering his ears. “Your voice is so shrill.”

The fairy shrieks and tugs sharply on his hair. “Put me down!”

Draco moans again and drops his head to the table. The fairy bites his finger, but he shakes his hand out, tightening his grip.

“You’re manhandling me!” The fairy shouts. Draco ignores her. “I’m going to the committee with this! See if we light up your Christmas tree! Your Christmas will be ruined! I have _connections_ you know! The queen is my father’s ex-girlfriends dentist’s cousin - or something!”

“Shut up.” Draco snaps, shaking his fist more vigorously. The fairy shrieks again, sneezing a puddle of sparkling silver glitter all over Draco’s knuckles.

“ _This_ is why you aren’t allowed in the liquor cabinet by yourself!” She wails, pointing furiously to the empty bottles at his feet. “Harry will be _so_ mad at us!”

-

Harry rolls his eyes unsympathetically. “Look, just because you drank your way through eight bottles of firewhiskey doesn’t mean you don’t have to have a sense of common decency.”

“Fuck you.”

“You sound like a kid,” Harry says, “Ara has bruises and I think she really will refuse to work on Christmas.”

“Who the bloody fuck is _Ara_?” Draco snipes, shooting him a deathly look from his kneeling position on the bathroom floor.

“You don’t even know the name of the fairy you abducted?”

“She has a name?”

“Of course she has a name!” Harry says righteously.

Draco blames disgust at his boyfriend’s stupid caring nature as he retches for the fifth time that morning. Harry holds his hair too tightly, fingers dig sharply into his neck. Draco ignores Harry’s other hand, which is rubbing soothing circles down his back.

-

“Draco!” Harry laughs, gleefully. “It’s snowing!”

Draco hands him a steaming mug of hot chocolate, cradling his own between bare hands. “You sound as if you’ve never seen snow before.”

He smiles at Harry, who looks as though he’s five years old. His face is shining. His hand is pressed flat to the frosty window and his breath warms it.

“It’s our first snowy Christmas living together,” Harry says. “It’s exciting.”

“Come on, then,” Draco says, wrapping a scarf around Harry’s neck and pulling him into a kiss.

“We should have a snowball fight,” Harry says, breathlessly, wide grin blinding.

The snowflakes landing in Harry’s hair melt immediately, leaving it shining but soaked. He laughs, spraying Draco with stray drops as he shakes his head.

“Oi!” Draco protests. His own hair is frozen in downward spikes. It reminds Harry of icicles.

They collapse into the trampled snow - or, Harry collapses. Draco seats himself regally, cross-legged, hands clasped over his knees. Their flushed cheeks calm.

“I love snow.” Harry grins.

“Of course you do,” Draco murmurs.

“We should go inside,” Harry says, touching a strand of the other’s pale hair. Draco looks at him. “Your hair’s going to break.”

-

A painfully bitter, sweet smell drifts through the yard. Draco ducks under a branch heavily laden with snow and apples. The shed in the Weasley’s yard is steaming, snow melted around the edges.

“Harry,” He calls, “Granger says it’s time for carols.”

Harry turns as Draco pushes the door open, wiping his hands on his jeans. A burst of heat hits Draco in the face. “Should I come in?”

Draco strips off his thick cloak and closes the door behinds him. “No, I took it as an opportunity to escape. What are you making?”

Harry grins, offering an overflowing mug.

-

Draco accepts the steaming mug of cider from Harry, who pulls him further into the warm shed, bells around his neck jingling.

“You’re still wearing that thing?” Draco scoffs, flicking the necklace.

Of course; Teddy made it for me.” Harry leans over his simmering cauldron, stirring experimentally. “What time is it?”

“Half past nine.” Draco wraps his arms around Harry’s shoulders and slouches against him. He flicks a surreptitious lick across Harry’s neck, humming. “I doubt they’ll come looking for us.

Harry turns in Draco’s arms, crooked smile forming. “And I suppose you want me to just drop everything I’m doing and indulge your whims?”

“That’s exactly what I want.” Draco purrs. The bells sound again as Harry moves.

-

“You’re such a liar.” Harry’s amused whisper heats the skin at Draco’s nape, tickling the hairs there.

“What are you talking about?” Draco mutters back. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Not now, at the Burrow.”

They lay still for a moment. Cheerful, overplayed Christmas music floats through the house from the Wizarding Wireless. The fire crackles quietly, chestnuts roasting under the supervision of a frantically knitting Dobby.

“Maybe.” Draco concedes, turning his head towards Harry who laughs and tugs him closer with a deft twist of his foot.

“So you really do need to be supervised in the shower just in case you pass out? The doctors were that concerned over your impromptu drinking-binge-as-conduit-to-skip-work plan? Can always trust you to turn anything to your advantage.”

“I rather thought I was turning things to your advantage, actually,” Draco says loftily, sliding his hands into Harry’s back pockets and pulling him closer in turn.

-

“Hey, Ginny, is Draco there?” Harry’s head bobs in the fire, turning to look around the room.

“Oh! Hi Harry!” Ginny smiles, setting down her coffee mug and moving to crouch in front of the fireplace. “Yeah, he came by at a ridiculously early time this morning babbling about Quidditch plays for tomorrows match.”

“Mm.” Harry grunts, grimacing as he shifts his knees into a less painful position. “Well, I’ve told him he’s got nothing to worry about. It’s not as though you make a habit of missing the quaffle.”

Ginny laughs. “He’s in the shower now, but he will probably be out in a couple minutes. Do you want to come through?”

“Sure.” Harry withdraws his head gratefully, stepping through into Ginny’s small apartment before the floo powder has a chance to burn itself out.

Ginny is sitting back at the table, coffee in one hand and Prophet in the other. “Tornados are having a good run,” She comments. “They beat the Bats yesterday 320 to 140.”

“The Arrows beat the Tornados 480 to 310.” Draco says, towel drying his hair as he emerges from the hallway. “Hey, love, what are you doing here?”

“Woke up and you weren’t there.” Harry grins. “I assumed you’d come to worry at Ginny, and it appears I was right.”

Draco huffs, rolling his eyes.

“We’ll be fine.” Ginny stretches, wicked grin adorning her face. “We’ll run them into the ground.”

“Yeah.” Draco looks at Harry suddenly, excited. “Did I mention that if we win this game we’re in the semi-finals for the Wold Cup?”

“I’m sure you’ve said it before.” Harry replies dryly.

“Did he mention that _when_ we’re in the semi-finals the Department of Magical Games and Sports hosts a Yule Ball for the involved teams?” Ginny smirks. “And as coach, Draco is essentially required to attend.”

Harry pales. “ _What_?”

-

It is drizzling when Harry gets to the pitch, but Draco is still there. He stands under the bleachers, swathed in his old Slytherin scarf.

“Where have you been?” Draco says. “I’ve been waiting for nearly half an hour.”

“Sorry,” Harry says. “I was held up at Luna’s. They’ve found out Lysander’s allergic to nuts, so they decided to have Lorcan checked at St. Mungo’s. I was coerced into babysitting.”

“Coerced - as if.” Draco drags Harry under the stands and into a kiss, gloved hands trapping his face.

“Tch, bastard,” Harry sputters, pulling away. “Do you have any idea how cold your hands are? Those are Quidditch gloves!”

The rain drips above them, unyielding.

-

Draco stares.

“Santa! Saint Nick, Father Christmas, Pere Noel?” Harry asks. “You’ve never even heard of him?”

“He doesn’t exist!” Draco defends himself.

“Still,” Hermione says. “I would have thought that knowledge muggle customs would have have infiltrated Slytherin more than that.” She shakes her head. “That at least the half-bloods might have mentioned something...”

“Why would they?” Draco asks, voice conveying his amusement at the idea. “I would leave behind tales of a fat old man in a red suit too.”

“Did you know the red-and-white look of the cheery, white-haired Santa best known now was designed by Coka Cola?” Hermione says, eyes twinkling in a suspiciously Dumbledore-like manner.

“Look, Draco, it’s just a story to make Christmas more fun for children.” Harry tries to explain.

“It’s a _lie_.” Draco says, affronted.

“Didn’t you ever wonder how your presents appeared under the tree in the morning?” Harry changes tactics quickly.

“No.” Draco looks even more confused. “They put them out after I was asleep.”

“Oh.”

Hermione chuckles a little at their expense, “Draco, do you know how Saint Nick delivers presents to thousands of kids all over the world?”

“No.” Draco’s tone indicates his exasperation.

“Well,” Hermione says, grinning at Harry, “He uses magic.”

-

Hermione looks up as Draco enters the library, tilting her book down slightly from where she has been hunched over the table. She gestures for him to sit down with her sugar quill.

“You need help with something.” It is not a question. Draco glares halfheartedly.

“Harry’s determined to have a fully muggle Christmas this year. I need to know if there's anything important that I should be aware of. I thought - we’ll I know you celebrated Christmas the muggle way until you came to Hogwarts.” He leans his forearms gently against the table’s edge, loose sleeves falling open and revealing tapered blue gloves.

“Hmm.” Hermione closes her book fully, also sitting forward. “I’m sure Harry will tell you a lot of what you want to know. Something he might not mention is that some muggles are extremely religious, following traditions that almost all wizards stopped hundreds of years ago. From what I know of Harry’s family, they most likely followed religious teaching to some degree, if only to try to further their ‘good’ reputation. My family was never terribly religious. We went to midnight mass a couple times when I was very young, but stopped after my Grandparents passed. We sung carols, which were most often also religious-”

“What’s ‘midnight mass’?” Draco frowns.

-

“How did you convince me this was a _good_ idea?”

“Nh, c’mon, I’ve never had a proper muggle Christmas!” Harry tries to look pitiful, but the expression is dampened slightly by the nails clamped between his teeth.

“Why can’t we do muggle things on Christmas but decorate with magic?” Draco complains, tightening his grip on Harry’s ladder. Draco doesn’t want to know where it came from. “I don’t trust this thing.”

“Here, hold these then.” Harry dumps the wreaths he’s yet to hang around Draco’s neck. Draco sputters indignantly, forced to steady the ladder as Harry doubles over with laughter.

-

The ladder is propped against the wall, and all of the wreaths finally hung. Draco and Harry sit on the floor near the fire, sharing some of Harry’s hot apple cider. Harry slides down the wall, feet splayed.

“My arms hurt.” He complains.

“Wimp.”

They grin at each other, and Draco sips his cider to break the sudden tension. “If you’re going to decorate the muggle way you’ll have to finish before you get any of this.” He taunts, leering.

“Aw... bastard.” Harry groans.

The sound of the crackling fire fills the room again. It reminds Draco of powerful magic. It reminds Harry of too much homework. He rolls to his feet, offering Draco a hand.

“Come on then,” He says, “let’s finish this quickly.”

-

“Tinsel?” Draco glares at the offending material. “What could possibly possess muggles to put this crap on their Christmas trees?”

“It’s sparkly,” Harry says, as though this is all the reason anyone should need.

“It’s so _muggle_.” Draco sighs. “But I suppose that’s the point. I’m starting to regret that whole fiasco with the fairy.”

“Good.”

Draco redirects his glare. “So we just throw the stuff on the tree?”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Spread it out some. Don’t let it clump up.”

Draco sprinkles the tinsel onto the tree with over-exaggerated movements. Harry disguises his laugh in his sleeve.

-

“Holly is dangerous!” Draco insists. “It’s prickly! What if Teddy catches himself on it?”

“Draco, I’m sure Teddy knows not to-”

“Is Ron coming tonight? Because I heard he might be doing extra shifts.”

“Ron never misses a party. It was his idea!”

“Still!” Draco protests, holding the decorative holly above Harry’s reaching hands. “Teddy could get scraped!”

“And nearly everyone who will be there can-” Harry swipes at it.

“Holly’s dangerous!” Draco reiterates.

Harry groans in exasperation. “I don’t understand your problem with Christmas decorating! Listen, if you don’t let me put that up I’m calling Fred and George.”

-

Draco is passed out on the couch. Harry shoves a handful of candy canes off of his chest and they tumble loudly to the floor. Draco doesn’t stir.

The room has been decorated for the Christmas party Ron had insisted they host the next day, but Draco apparently didn't sleep much the night before, because he didn’t made it long enough to finish putting up the streamers. Harry watches his chest rise and fall slowly, breath causing his hair to flutter minutely.

Fred and George had tied dozens of silver ribbons to his hair at some point. Harry suspects it won’t be pretty the next time they see each other. He cajoles Draco’s form into his arms and heads for the stairs, planning a long sleep.

-

The wrapping paper scattered across the room crinkles loudly when Harry rolls over onto it. His hands fly to his head as he sits up, yanking off an obnoxious orange bit of wrapping that seems to be tapped to his hair.

“What time is it?” Draco asks, lifting a lazy hand to cover his eyes from the bright light reflecting off of the snow outside.

“I don’t know,” Harry says. “Teddy’s still asleep, though, and the sun isn’t over the house yet.”

“Weasley is far too into his holiday parties.” Draco complains. Harry hums an agreement, leaning against the couch Draco has slept on for the second time this week.

-

“This is delicious Molly,” Draco says.

‘Mmm.” Harry agrees, gesturing empathetically with his fork. Draco kicks him.

“It was my mother’s recipe.” Molly smiles fondly. “We used to have fruitcake every weekend. Fabian and Gideon could eat a whole one, each! So like Fred and George.”

“Oi, mum! I could polish off two during Hogwarts!” George calls from down the table. Angelina snorts.

“I seem to recall the pair of you eating three each, at least, on Christmas sixth year.”

Harry nudges Draco with his foot under the table, offering a large, colourful forkful of fruitcake. He waves it tauntingly.

“No,” Draco says. “Absolutely not.”

“Oh, come on.” Harry moves a hand onto Draco’s thigh and the cake closer to his mouth, grinning. “It’s Christmas.”

-

“Close your eyes!” Hermione scolds as Teddy tries to peek around the doorway. “You can’t see the living room yet!”

“Do you want hot chocolate or eggnog?” Ron asks, grabbing mugs from cupboards with the hand he’s not using to hold Hugo.

“Who let this monster loose?” Rose hangs off of Draco, who enters the kitchen with Harry. Both are bleary-eyed and sleep-tousled. Draco is holding his pajama bottoms up with one hand so as to stop Rose from kicking them off in her attempts to stay clamped around his neck. “And what time is it?”

“But Aunty Hermione!” Teddy whines, smiling winningly. “Everybody’s taking so long. Can’t I just have a peek? Granny isn’t even _awake_ yet.”

“Daddy, I want some apple juice.” Rose sniffs plaintively.

“I think you’ll find that I am incredibly awake, boy.” Andromeda huffs, pulling him away from the doorway by his collar and ruffling his hair. “Are you being a nuisance?”

“I’ll have some eggnog.” Ginny sings, towing her boyfriend behind her down the stairs. “Johnny’ll have some too.”

“Coming right up. Do you want to have the Cannon’s cup or the dog one, Rosie?” Ron says. “How much would you like, Harper?”

“It’s nearly eight!” Hermione calls over the sudden racket from above.

“These bells are incredible!” Arthur cries. “What are they called - jungle bells, jangle bells?”

“ _Why_ is it so bloody early?” Harry moans, dragging a hand through his hair.

“I’m fine with whatever you give me, thanks, Weasley,” Johnny Harper says, edging away from Ginny as her parents appear.

“It’s called a jingle bell, dear.” Molly corrects, heading for the oven. She pulls out a tray of steaming cookies. “And it’s much too loud inside.”

“I don’t need _this_ much apple juice.”

“Is it time to open our stockings _yet_?” Teddy asks from where he has hidden behind Harry.

“Does everyone have all of their drinks?” Ron says.

“I think I need a couple shots of Firewhiskey.” Draco mutters.

“Is everyone here?” Molly calls, “Are we ready? Yes?”

“ _Yes_.” Teddy moans. “ _Finally_.”

“Alright, let’s go!” Ginny scoops Teddy up and makes a mad dash for the living room. “We’re gonna get the best seats!”

-

“Draco,” Harry says dubiously. “Didn’t you give me a set of green dress robes last year?” He shakes the robes out on the couch. They are knee-length, complete with a large hood and shimmering with protective spells.

Draco raises an eyebrow. “Yes. I gave you _those_ green dress robes last year.”

“What? But - you can’t give them to me again! They’re already mine!”

“Why not? You haven’t even worn them. I thought you enjoyed when I don’t waste money on new presents for Christmas.” Draco smiles.

“I didn’t mean-”

“We’re going out.” Draco tells him. “You’ll wear them tonight.”

-

Draco tears open his gifts like a little kid, the exact opposite of his meticulous packaging. Harry dodges a flying piece of wrapping, catching a glimpse of a storm of moving snowflakes as it passes his head.

“You’re opening mine?” He notes, moving closer to see his reaction.

“Am I?” Draco flushes, sheepishly checking for a tag.

“You chucked it at Arthur a minute ago,” says Harry.

“Um.”

Draco peels the wrapping off much more slowly now, opening the small unmarked box. He pulls out a small, shiny box. It beeps at him. Harry catches it before it hits the floor.

“ _Ahhh_... what is it?” Draco asks skeptically.

“It’s a mobile - muggles use them. I’ve had this one altered so that it can work around magic. I have one too - and I’ve given one to everyone on your team. You can call them instantly with this.” Harry grins at the look of wonder Draco gives him, pushing down the guilt from enabling him to harass his team whenever he wants.

“You’re joking. Instantly?”

“Pretty much.” The guilt is quickly forgotten at the look Draco is giving him.

-

“My mother took me when I was nine. She said she saw it with her cousin when she graduated from Hogwarts.” Draco buttons deftly.

“Her cousin?” Harry asks, suddenly distracted from his tie. “You mean....”

“I always suspected she knew more about Black than she let on.” Draco shrugs into his elaborate dress robes. “I knew that she still wrote to her family.”

Harry looks up from where he is kneeling in front of the mirror, still struggling with his tie. He allows Draco to tilt his head back and begin spelling his hair into some kind of order.

“Thanks.”

-

The Ballet is amazing. Harry watches the dancers, twisting and soaring gracefully across the stage. Draco watches Harry.

“It reminds me of fighting,” Harry says. “The movement, you know. But it’s a lot nicer here.”

“Just watch.” Draco instructs, and Harry does. He thinks of Sirius watching this with Draco’s mum, years ago, as the nutcracker comes to life and the Mouse King leads his mice into battle. He also notices the ridiculously tight spandex the nutcracker is wearing as he leaps into battle. Draco shoots him a look.

“Tchaikovsky.” He flips his palm up on the arm rest and Harry clasps his hand. Clara throws her shoe at the Mouse King. Harry smiles.

-

The snowy night is silent. Harry’s hands are warm around his coffee mug, but his arms are frozen against the metal rail of the terrace. He hangs his hand over the edge, dark hair whispering across his cheeks.

“Trying to freeze to death?” Draco asks, voice scornful.

“It’s quiet,” Harry replies. “Peaceful.”

Draco’s hands rest lightly on his shoulders. “It’s too fucking cold to be peaceful.”

“You’re in a bad mood,” Harry notes, though he knows Draco isn’t, really.

“You should come to bed.” Draco tightens his hands briefly, and then Harry hears him leave and it’s silent again.

“Soon.”

-

“Just- hey, close your eyes.” Draco pulls the blindfold tighter and Harry makes an affronted noise as he is jerked back. “We’re almost there.”

“I hate side-along apparition.” Harry moans, swatting Draco in the face.

“Oi! What was that?” Draco yelps, hands releasing Harry’s shoulders as he clamps them over his nose.

“Sorry!” Harry chuckles. “I was aiming for your arm.”

“Well, I told you you’d like your present, right? I thought of it after you told me about muggle Christmas. It needs to be in the right climate and it would ruin the surprise if I told you where to apparate.”

Harry huffs, arms crossed over his chest stubbornly even as he follows Draco’s guiding hands. “I had better be worth it. It’s already been a week since Christmas; I don’t know why you couldn’t just give it to me then.”

“Okay! Here we are!” Draco vanishes the blindfold with a flourish of his wand, spinning Harry around.

“Draco? Is that- did you- ” Harry gapes.

“A reindeer!” Draco announces smugly.

-

The Weasley’s and their extended friends and family gather around the huge bonfire. Harry and Draco stand, hand clasped, leaning against a large tree.

“Ten seconds to midnight!” Ginny announces with a loud whoop. “Nine-” She waves her wand, a violent red ribbon swirling out of it and forming a number eight. The ribbon twists as she calls out, “Seven!”

Teddy jumps up and down, waving around his Headless Hat, yelling out the seconds as they pass by.

“Oh, look,” Draco says innocently, glancing up. “Somebody forgot to take down the mistletoe.”

Harry laughs, leaning into Draco, running his hands down the other’s sides to rest on his hips. “It’s New Years Eve,” He whispers against Draco’s lips. “We really don’t need an excuse to kiss.”

Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes’s fireworks erupt loudly around them as the clock strikes midnight. The colours of the new year flicker across their cheeks as their lips touch.

* * *

_End_.


End file.
